


a wistful dreamer

by dittyditto (Triple_A)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Can be platonic or romantic, Fluff, M/M, Touch-Starved Gavin Reed, but leaning a little more towards romantic, fluffy fluffy fluffy fluff, gavin has insomnia, i have a lot of feelings about platonic physical comfort okay, mentioned - Freeform, something soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 00:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18355262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triple_A/pseuds/dittyditto
Summary: Here's the thing about Detective Gavin Reed:The man does not sleep.In which Nines notices things, Gavin can't sleep and Nines has to help.





	a wistful dreamer

**Author's Note:**

> ao3 tag: touch-starved gavin  
> me, vibrating in my seat: oohohohohoh boy ohboyohboy ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh boyyyyyyyy oh boy oh-
> 
> have some more soft rat man. this was a one shot spewed out in detroit new era discord's suspended channel
> 
> https://discord.gg/rMRxAYS- join us

Here's the thing about Detective Gavin Reed:

The man does not sleep.

Nines had noticed that relatively early on in their partnership. If the seemingly endless stream of coffee cups finding their way to his desk wasn't enough indication, it was the dark bags beneath his eyes, the way he'd show to work hours before his shift with shuffling feet and a bitter expression, the way he'd slump in his chair and stare blankly at the screen.

(Nines learns the hard way its best not to try and shake Gavin from the stupor of the latter, as he moves to touch Gavin's shoulder one day and causes him to jump, cursing and yelping about cold fingers before stalking off to the break room.)

Tina just shrugged when Nines had voiced his concerns. "Yeah, he's got nasty insomnia and he hates sleep aids. Says they make his head hurt."

Nines frowned. "With such a lack of sleep, one would think his performance would be more...lacking."

"Eh, his insomnia hits him randomly. It's not a constant thing." She sipped her tea and watched Gavin drag a perpetrator from the interrogation room to the holding cells. "When it gets bad I threaten to duct tape him to his bed. Almost did, once. But this doesn't happen often and he manages well otherwise, so."

That was true enough, Nines supposed. There were days Gavin showed looking much better rested, and being far less jumpy or short-tempered. But those days were the rare ones, and more common were the periods of split-second outbursts and a constant caffeine intake.

Nines doesn't know how to help Gavin (despite wanting to), so he just watches. Watches the man curl up on park benches and in the car passenger's seat after cases and crime scenes, with jacket pulled tight around himself, staring with exhausted eyes at streetlights and smogged-out stars.

...

One day, Gavin doesn't show to work.

His phone calls go unanswered, as do texts and emails. Tina is worried, cursing each time her calls are met with voicemail and leaving weak threats to call back or else. Fowler is angry, but also concerned.

Nines, with nothing else to do, feels the inexplicable weight of a deep rooted worry, spreading with his idleness, and decides to take things into his own hands.

A quick search into Gavin's file reveals his address easily enough, and ten minutes and a quick taxi ride later finds him standing at the door of 419 Bluestone Street, Redwood Apartments. There's no answer to his insistent knocking or doorbell ringing, and adds more anxiety to his mounting fear. The pre-constructions that his state-of-the-art panicking mind creates does nothing to ease his mood, instead being counterproductive and making him feel more frantic.

The lock is an out-of-date model, and it takes very little effort or thought to hack it open. At the sound of the door click, he swings it open, seeing-

-at first, nothing. Then he turns to the left and sees Gavin, slouched on the kitchen table in what must surely be an uncomfortable position. His hand rests near a still-glowing tablet, holding the contents of a recent case report. Near him is also an empty mug, with the residue of ( **ANALYZING...** ) black tea still on the rim; and his phone, screen black and dead and half dangling from slack fingers.

He touches Gavin's cheek, and feels his pulse. Asleep. He thinks he might shudder apart at the seams with the relief.

Something brushes against Nines's leg, and he jumps. He looks down to see-

A cat. A short-hair, with a solid black coat with a white tail, staring up at him with green eyes and a disgruntled expression, meowing insistently. A scan reveals her name to be Marshall, her owner to be Gavin Reed, and she was likely hungry, and was not yet fed that morning.

It doesn't take a pre-construction to guess what has happened. He pings a text to Tina, and then sends a message to Fowler, requesting a day off for both Gavin and himself. Upon the Captain's reply ("fine."), he gets to work.

First, he finds a can of cat food in the pantry, and cracks it open into Marshall's bowl by the kitchen counter. Cat fed, he clears the kitchen table, sending the mug to the sink, the phone to its charger on the nightstand, and the tablet to the coffee table.

Then came the larger problem. The position Gavin was sleeping in could not possibly be good for his back, but Nines doubted he'd be happy if Nines manhandled his comatose body into bed.

Then again, Nines did not want to disturb his rest (it was the most peaceful he'd ever seen him) and leave him to wake up on the hard surface of the kitchen table.

After some debate, he carefully slings an arm beneath Gavin's knees and another around his shoulders, lifting him up bridal-style. There was a throw blanket on the couch, and it was closer then the bed, so Nines carefully sets him down and lays the blanket over him. There's no cushioning for his neck, so Nines moves away to get a pillow from the bedroom.

He's stopped by a weak hand that half-clutches at his sleeve. Gavin's eyes are bleary and half-open, but focused on Nines.

"Gavin?"

"Nh...Nines....Don't." He mumbles against the couch cushioning. "Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere, Gavin." Nines begins, but Gavin just shakes his head.

"Stay?" He whispers, and surely something must be wrong with Nines's processor, because how can Nines say no to that?

Something stutters, and his previous objective ( **RETRIEVE PILLOW** ) seems so utterly pointless now. He takes a seat on the couch, and Gavin takes the opportunity to place his head on Nine's lap, snuggling in.

Now Nines knows that he's never seen Gavin look so at ease, as green eyes close and head goes limp against Nines's thigh. Marshall joins them and jumps onto the seat to Nines's free side, kneading herself against his side and purring when he places fingers against her head.

He falls into such a pattern petting Marshall that he almost doesn't notice when his other hand starts doing the same to Gavin, playing idly with the hair at the back of his neck. It's soft-he'd never really considered Gavin before, but his hair is soft and...fluffy.

Of course he has to notice, when Gavin sighs and turns his head, eyelashes flickering against his cheeks. Nines thinks for a moment that he woke Gavin up again.

The apology on his lips dies off when Gavin looks up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Don't stop"

"I-what?"

"Nines," Gavin mumbles, voice low in his chest. He sighs and leans against Nines's slack hand. "Please, don't stop."

Hesitatingly at first, Nines pets Gavin, running fingers down his scalp to stroke at his neck. Gavin shudders, sighs, and positively goes lax.

"Is-" Nines tongue feels unwieldy in his throat. "Is this good?"

"Ha, yeah." Gavin mumbles, and Nines irrationally thinks for a moment that the Detective might turn to a puddle and sink into the cushions, if he keeps this up. "It's...I like it. It's good. You're good"

_Thank you_ , Nines wants to say. Or _I should hope so._  But instead, all that comes out is,"Am I?"

Gavin snorts, and sighs, and tilts his head back just a little bit. His eyes are closed again, and his face looks...dreamy. "Yeah...yeah. Like... my mom."

"Pardon?"

He's almost too far gone to reply, but Nines catches the drifting mumble. "Yeah...Used to get sick a lot. As a kid. My mom would rub my back whenever it happened. Always felt real nice." He yawns. He's so warm against Nine's hand. "Took it for granted. Never thought I'd have it again."

"Oh." Nines doesn't talk, too busy mulling this new information over. It makes his chest ache, for some reason he can't pinpoint.

Nines has rarely ever wanted before. Even in deviancy, he has no want for material items, no want for anything other then success or a job well done. But right now, he wants nothing more then to give Gavin this; this small action so inconsequential and wistful, yet suddenly so important to be given to the man dozing in his lap.

Irrational, pointless, built on inane dreaming: but Nines thinks he can do this forever.

(Evening comes around, and Gavin blinks awake, confused but feeling better then he had ever in a while. Nine's fingers are still running through his hair, warm.)

**Author's Note:**

> when i was a kid, i got a touch of pneumonia. the whole time i was coughing my lungs out in bed, my mom would be sitting by me, rubbing my back and telling me stories that i don't remember, until i fell asleep.
> 
> i haven't been the right kind of sick in a long time.


End file.
